Why do I always feel the need to write when I feel crappy? Why can't a write nice things? I know I'm just being hormonal, that's the worst of it. Being a chick is like being an unwilling paranoid crackhead. Once a month, the fucking universe and everything in it is out to get me.
I read an article here in the SD Reader about how Barbarella, a local columnist, used to be fat. (BTW, I am sorta fat. Sorta...uber-fat.) And it was like reading something I've written. I enjoyed it, was a little saddened by it, but nevertheless, I wasn't offended or anything. Just kind of a "good-for-her" response, put down the paper and get myself a sandwich. What fucking offended me was the article I read in response to the original. Some lady who'd been skinny all her life and is now fat due to some athletic injury (HA! Oh the IRONY!) is pissed because now she's viewed as societal untouchable and smelly and lazy and she can't believe how now that she's fat she feels invisible and blah blah blah...Her letter made her sound like a bitter, whiny spoiled brat. And I KNOW from bitter and whiny. What I didn't appreciate was her throwing all this information in my face, the puffy, distorted face of a "Forever-fat girl". Not only does it hurt to be reminded of this, so that now, when I go out I feel all those judgemental eyes that I might have suspected before, hear the laughter I thought was just a giggle about something having nothing to do with me, and being introduced to a friend of a friend of a friend who can't even bring himself to look at me when he shakes my hand and asks me how I'm "doon." Now I notice these things. These are things one simply CANNOT understand if one isn't fat, and, thing that, if you are fat, you try your best to ignore because it could cripple you if you pay attention. It's like daydreaming the details of your own firey death in a car crash while you're driving down the freeway. It's not a good idea, and if you're lucky enough to get back into your house, you don't want to leave again.
But you know what? Now, I find myself kind of stuck. See, this chick, who is a newbie to being a sprawing sack of blubber is upset by her new plague of invisibility, I have been a lardass since the second grade. (I lost any friends I had because I let it slip that I didn't believe in God, and I couldn't climb the rope ladder. It wasn't because I was fat, it was because I had a FUCKING FEAR OF HEIGHTS. Try telling that to a class of shitkickers who'd already made up their tiny little god-fearing minds.) ANYWAY, my point is, she is used to getting all the attention and being in a glittering spotlight and is sad because now the spotlight is on her thin friends. Me, I've NEVER had the spotlight. I am NOT used to that shit. So on the odd occasion that the fucking thing does hit me, I become too terrified to move gracefully, to say ANYTHING intelligent, or to do anything but sit with my shoulders up around my ears and a smile that says LOOK AT ME THIS IS SO FUN! WOW THIS IS FUN! WHEN THE FUCK CAN I GO HOME!?!?!?
SO. In light of this realization, how the fuck am I supposed to be able to lose weight? When I look in the mirror, I see the thin girl I must've eaten in order to get this grotesque. I see muscles, and smooth skin and a pretty jawline. But I can't even fathom that fucking spotlight. I lost like 70 lbs. once. I felt like a strong breeze could've knocked me right over. And at that point, I still had another 40 or 50 to go.
I read an article here in the SD Reader about how Barbarella, a local columnist, used to be fat. (BTW, I am sorta fat. Sorta...uber-fat.) And it was like reading something I've written. I enjoyed it, was a little saddened by it, but nevertheless, I wasn't offended or anything. Just kind of a "good-for-her" response, put down the paper and get myself a sandwich. What fucking offended me was the article I read in response to the original. Some lady who'd been skinny all her life and is now fat due to some athletic injury (HA! Oh the IRONY!) is pissed because now she's viewed as societal untouchable and smelly and lazy and she can't believe how now that she's fat she feels invisible and blah blah blah...Her letter made her sound like a bitter, whiny spoiled brat. And I KNOW from bitter and whiny. What I didn't appreciate was her throwing all this information in my face, the puffy, distorted face of a "Forever-fat girl". Not only does it hurt to be reminded of this, so that now, when I go out I feel all those judgemental eyes that I might have suspected before, hear the laughter I thought was just a giggle about something having nothing to do with me, and being introduced to a friend of a friend of a friend who can't even bring himself to look at me when he shakes my hand and asks me how I'm "doon." Now I notice these things. These are things one simply CANNOT understand if one isn't fat, and, thing that, if you are fat, you try your best to ignore because it could cripple you if you pay attention. It's like daydreaming the details of your own firey death in a car crash while you're driving down the freeway. It's not a good idea, and if you're lucky enough to get back into your house, you don't want to leave again.
But you know what? Now, I find myself kind of stuck. See, this chick, who is a newbie to being a sprawing sack of blubber is upset by her new plague of invisibility, I have been a lardass since the second grade. (I lost any friends I had because I let it slip that I didn't believe in God, and I couldn't climb the rope ladder. It wasn't because I was fat, it was because I had a FUCKING FEAR OF HEIGHTS. Try telling that to a class of shitkickers who'd already made up their tiny little god-fearing minds.) ANYWAY, my point is, she is used to getting all the attention and being in a glittering spotlight and is sad because now the spotlight is on her thin friends. Me, I've NEVER had the spotlight. I am NOT used to that shit. So on the odd occasion that the fucking thing does hit me, I become too terrified to move gracefully, to say ANYTHING intelligent, or to do anything but sit with my shoulders up around my ears and a smile that says LOOK AT ME THIS IS SO FUN! WOW THIS IS FUN! WHEN THE FUCK CAN I GO HOME!?!?!?
SO. In light of this realization, how the fuck am I supposed to be able to lose weight? When I look in the mirror, I see the thin girl I must've eaten in order to get this grotesque. I see muscles, and smooth skin and a pretty jawline. But I can't even fathom that fucking spotlight. I lost like 70 lbs. once. I felt like a strong breeze could've knocked me right over. And at that point, I still had another 40 or 50 to go.